


Don't Shoot the Messenger

by Bidawee



Series: we took care of marner (mobsters AU) [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Blackmail, Coercion, Emotional Manipulation, Frottage, Intoxication, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, Organized Crime, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Possessive Behavior, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 06:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13945467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: The more he thought, the darker the fantasies got, flirting with the idea of holding his lover down and feeding him lie after lie until he had no attraction to the idea of running ever again. (Or: Auston will be the eventual successor to a centennial crime syndicate, and Mitch is a has-been weapons trafficker that wants to get out.)





	Don't Shoot the Messenger

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I was previously stuck under Anonymous but that is no longer the case. All anonymous authors comments are mine, bidawee.
> 
> Thank goodness this behemoth is done. I would work on little bits and pieces for days and then change the storyline completely so there may be a few continuity errors I missed. I explain more about this universe in the end notes along with the warnings so if you need some more background information I’ve supplied it there.  
> Be warned that there’s a lot of flashbacks in the story too. For context-sake, haha. Also fun fact, the storage-locker is based off a real place in London that I visited once with family, which let me tell you, was probably the most haunted place on earth.  
> Of course the archive went down and then began to lag when I uploaded, so if there's a double post floating around let me know so I can hunt it down. Comments are appreciated, re-read, and framed!

**December 7, 2025**

Years of making the drive south to visit the city of London in the dead of the morning had made the many landmarks and fields along the highway uncomfortably familiar.

The only small, near indistinguishable difference this time was that his visit was motivated by the outlandish demands of an employee, who risked uncovering an entire underground operation with one phone call. That's how he loathed to admit the morning started.

Usually Auston’s mornings would consist of caking his words with the same old business jargon necessary to peddle through a month's worth of documentation without ever tipping off his co-workers that the many published articles about their company by the Toronto Star and Dundas Square commercials alike were all pandering to a facade of excellence that couldn't possibly be true. They all followed a predictable formula to stop impulsivity like this from being weaned out from their heads, but then again, he never credited Kadri with playing the safe hand. He knew from the moment their replacement secretary poked his head into the accountants’ office that something was awry, and answering line one with a simple press of the key confirmed all of his suspicions.

At first, he'd been pleased for the distraction. It presented the opportunity to refrain from straining his eyes over the company finance readings for the next half an hour, something he earnestly despised but was necessary to do. Then he realized he would soon regret his decision not to dawdle and grab a cup of coffee before returning to his desk, because hearing Nazem Kadri’s sing-song octave on the other end of the line stirred the melting pot of frustrations that only caffeine could remedy.

“I need you to come down to London,” was the first thing out of his mouth, not even introducing himself. Auston reclined back in his chair, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he scanned through the multiple documents littering the desk.

“I'm working. Call me back later,” he said, not bothering to hide the way his voice careened into a drawl. There was a sputter on the other end of the line, the half-breed offspring of an offended gasp and growl.

“No, I need you now. There's a bit of a situation regarding recruitment over here.”

“And this involves me because?” he asked. Usually recruits would talk to Hyms or Willy. He wasn't a big people person, at least, not outside the conference room. However, Kadri was sighing on the other end of the line like taking the excess three seconds to explain the conflict was twisting the knife in his back deeper.

“You know about our absorption plans down here I presume, I don't have to refresh you?”

“Yes, I know.” He rolled his eyes, tapping the end of his pen against the desk just enough to annoy him. A form of self-torture against an already teeth-gritting call.

“Well,” he drawled out the l’s, “we might have an itty bitty little problem regarding one such Mitch Marner.” He stopped moving his pen, removing his legs from stretching out on top of the desk brace and sitting upright at full attention.

“What?”

“Okay, don't kill me, but I spoke to Mo about him-”

“Without asking me?”

“--and he said that taking into account his work performance he would be a valuable addition. Problem is, well, he peeped. Sang like a bird. Started yelling and shit. We might have to lock him up in one of the storage lockers.” Auston brought a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What the hell Naz,” he snarled, about to go off on a rant. _He’d been doing so well_.

“I know, yell at me all you want, but I mean, he's here. It's not going to change anything. Come down on your lunch break and like, talk to him. I told Mo you would be good at persuading him, just because.”

“Why me?” he couldn't stop himself from saying.

“Because he hates me right now and doesn't know anyone else. We talked about this, he's only going to listen to you.” Auston could feel himself begin to pace, a nervous habit he’d picked up after being trained to mimic his superiors down to every last mannerism. Despite the fact that it was supposed to ground him, the sensation of his feet sliding across the floor only got under his skin.

“If he doesn't want to join any talents he has are useless Kadri.”

“So rough him up a bit, I don't care. Look, I know it's a lot to ask but come on, isn't having him around just the slightest bit tempting?” _Yes_ , the voice in his head supplied, _that’s why it's dangerous for me to keep seeing him_. If only Kadri knew just how deep his thoughts ran--

Auston sighed into the receiver, standing up only to lean against the edge of his desk. A few loose papers fluttered to the ground innocently.

“I have to send someone down to the Guelph campus, but give me a few minutes and I'll be on the road.” He began tossing papers in cabinets, clearing his desk in a matter of seconds. The hurricane of financial reports disappeared from sight, fast enough for a nearby Komarov to look through the office window and scowl at the organized chaos.

“Cool. I'm at Bradley Avenue, uh, Freddie’ll know the way.”

“See you,” he said, and ended the call.

 

**December 16, 2017**

Auston learned pretty quickly that the world didn’t owe the impoverished, lower class a cent.

Toronto was supposed to be the beautiful metropolitan skyline where entrepreneurs and students alike built themselves from the ground up. University was a different story, as he soon found out; even with financial assistance and scholarships, there was an overwhelming anxiety bubbling inside of him about all things money. His mother would plaster a smile on her voice when he phoned her, but there was always a shame, a guilt for placing strain on his family for the basic requirement to succeed.

Working two part-time jobs proved too difficult. By the time he walked home after his last shift ended he could barely stand straight let alone do his readings or have time to socialize with his friends. It was demeaning, and he felt like a caged rat, being experimented on and isolated from society. It was no wonder when the opportunity for grant money opened up through the commerce faculty that he jumped to write one of many applications to prove he was eligible.

At least, that's what he told friends and family. Unbeknownst to them, he never made it to the financial aid’s cubicles. William Nylander, one of many commerce students he’d come to staple into his memory, directed him to a separate wing of the building where he met with a much older man who had conducted a verbal interview. To his credit, every work he spoke dripped with a genuine interest in Auston’s ability, and he could easily empathize with the struggle to perform to the best academic ability when the university was pestering you for money. The initial sum he offered, right off the bat, was more than he would have made working a single week with two jobs, and he prided himself on not letting too much of his enthusiasm leak through his face, instead channelling every ounce of positivity into a firm handshake.

With that kind of money being transferred to his account he could admit he was easily malleable, and was soon instructed to use his talents to launder money and pocket the insurance benefits of the many charities attached to the company for his supervisions. At the start, he could remember feeling reluctant to transfer from the easy small manual labour jobs they’d been having him do, but they’d saved him from having to take a loan out that semester, so he believed he had no right to argue.

His keen eye made it easy to read financial statements, and he was soon able to tuck away the empathy for the anonymous people behind the cards he was cashing in because for the first time in weeks he wasn’t eating out of a can. He was gradually introduced to more people, apprenticed to older classmates which showed him how to run virgin credit cards through a scanner. In a month’s time, he could fashion incredulous contracts and slip out of credit card loans without any noticeable repercussions.

His name became more infamous, more concentrated in the underground railroad of criminal activity in the city, and it was no surprise he was enlisted by the Leafs by the beginning of his second semester. Any doubts that’d been festering were squandered when his mother both visually and audibly glimmered with happiness during winter holidays, where he was able to afford a flight to Scottsdale, Arizona with his _own money_.

The people he’d met along the way ranged from the everyday khakis and sunglasses man you’d find wandering a college campus at two in the morning and the suave businessmen of the future, wearing two-faced personas that laughed with the elite employers at the university and went home to cash their blood money when the authorities’ backs were turned. But he’d be hard-pressed to find anyone that rivalled the affections of Mitch Marner, even eight-plus years into his affiliation with the Leafs organization.

Mitch was credited for his work in the field, capable of slipping through the fingers of any bank teller or policeman alike. After meeting through a mutual alliance and steadily becoming more acquainted, Auston’s initial infatuation spiralled out of control. There was an allure to the man, who was muscled but simultaneously sculpted with a thin waist and wily, designing eyelashes that quivered whenever he laughed under his breath. It didn’t matter that they belonged to completely different lifestyles; any boundaries that should have kept them separate became irrelevant when their fingers tangled together in a connecting gesture.

The first time he came across one such Mitch Marner was when he visited London, Ontario on business-related circumstances over his winter break. He’d stumbled onto one of the locales he was specifically told not to visit at the beginning of his training, a hotspot for illegal activities hosted by one of the many strongholds of the city, the Knights of London. Slimy, detestable, and all around reprehensible. Mo himself had voiced his own complaints as he handed Auston the assignment, face pinched as he said:

“I want you to meet with whoever they send out, smile a lot, let your allegiance do the talking for you, and agree with whatever they say. We’ll deal with the rest.” Not-so-subtly insinuating the lack of respect for any alliance the two might conjure up over the next few months. It was a business deal, as Mo had coined it, a simple agreement to further both of their causes until they were used up and could be properly disposed of. With that in mind, Auston made sure to personality-mirror the Mo he saw on conference calls, dressed in his best attire (even if it made him a target for whatever illicit activities these men got up to), and walked out into the lion’s den of cartels and brutality with a smiling face.

The streets were infested with tumbleweed-turned garbage, graffiti masking any motivational painting commissioned to hide the ugly layers of grime on the storage lockers. It was the place to go if you were looking for a hitman, maybe a dealer to cash in on the opioid crisis while it was still hot and you could experiment with ingredients that seated the taste of death on your tongue. It made his skin prick, hairs stand on end, but he chased away any doubts lingering on the insides of his soles and walk forward into the concrete oasis, mocked by the sad display of a half-broken swing set where one man was rocking back and forth on the only available seat.

It was cold, so the man was rubbing his hands together for the friction. While still considered by many to be a “mild winter”, the chill had sunk into the landscape and frosted the tips of the grass, breath clouding with little white puffs every time you exhaled (enough to make you self-conscious). His hunched posture made Auston speculate, he didn’t look like someone you’d see plaguing the street corners, breathing down the necks of the cops as he laughed his way to the bank. Even in comparison to the university campus students, he was small.

Despite his suspicions, he approached the man like he would a timid deer, with uneasy steps that placed him off-balance. The pebbles scattered in every direction with how low he was dragging his feet, and the skipping, rattling noise they made as they jumped announced his presence better than any opening line he could broach.

The man looked up, smiled a close-mouthed business smile, and made to stand up before Auston raised a hand to stop him.

“Do you live around here?” was the first thing that left his mouth. It was open-ended, and clearly not what the man was expecting, because his mouth opened and shut twice before his tongue formulated a response.

“Uh, kinda. I have a flat down the road. Why?” Auston let his eyes bore deep into the other man’s own. He looked much too soft around the edges and face to be anything but a honeytrap, but at the same time his looks worked to his advantage, because any police investigation that used him as bait must think their suspects had fried a few brain cells. It was too obvious, even for them, and besides, what were the odds they had obtained the specifics mere hours before the meet-up?

He realized he’d just been staring blankly ahead and cleared his throat, reaching one hand out.

“I’m, uh, Auston Matthews. I’m new to the area and was looking for someone around the area.” The man’s heels hug into the processed wood chips that the city called “playground foliage” and ceased his back and forth swinging. The metal ringing that accompanied it stopped too, leaving the area eerily quiet with the exception of the car horns that were howling in the great distance, echoing through the street corners and construction sites boxing them in.

“Oh,” he replied, making to stand again. “Um, that depends on what you’re looking for, I guess. You don’t happen to be from out of town?”

“I am,” he said, “I was told I’d be meeting with someone who knew a thing or two about the people in London. Maybe even the businesses and the trades.” It was no subtle poke at his true intentions, but was coercive enough to get the man to pause. This time when he looked up, his gaze was more obtrusive, keying in on the little details that spoke volumes about Auston’s allegiance.

“Are we talking illegal, or--“

“I’m talking stuff in the area.” The man flashed his teeth, shoving his hands into his coat pockets and turning openly to Auston.

“Well, that depends on the kind of work you want done. I could probably set you up if you’re more specific.” They both knew the game was up; he was teasing and it should have been irritating. Instead, Auston found himself playing along, mimicking the slack posture and shoving his hands into his suit pockets as if it would make him look less political.

“So I’ll take a shot in the dark, you’re affiliated with the London Knights?” he asked.

“A lot of people are, it doesn’t really mean anything. I think everyone leans on them from time to time. Why, are you police?” He brought his hands up to his face and exhaled, the heat of it visibility bathing his hands in a majestic cloud of breath. The maintained eye contact between them was setting off little flickers of inclination in his lungs. He felt enthralled by the doe-eyes so blatantly toying with the idea of dancing around the objective, coy down to his fingernails.

“I’m from Toronto. Long way to go for an informant.” He gestured in the distance with one hand, as if that could voice the distance between the two cities with enough vigour to make it sound truer.

“I dunno. People can claim to be a lot of things.” And technically, it was true. It wasn’t every day someone walked up to you and started digging at buried icons most above ground people didn’t even know existed. But, in his defence, this area was designated for trades and addicts to get fixed up with their narcotics and alcohol, so clearly this man wasn’t expecting any regular person to walk up unless they got lost.

Whatever, he was getting off track, and the man was small. Not exactly hunched over and tiny, but the right kick to the shins would put him at the average height of a child. Easy to tip. Possibly muscled, but written off to be lithe in his genes, and absolutely no threat to someone like Auston. He had nothing to lose if this was some elaborate trap, though he would give Mo an earful later for such a deceptive exercise in trust.

“Would this be more convincing?” He peeled his jacket off, jerking his sleeve up to reveal the fine printed maple leaf illustration decorating his arm. It joined another tattoo forming the beginning of a sleeve, innocent enough to a bystander that might assume it was in salute to the country or some artistic vision. In the underworld, it was an alias for danger.

It got the signal across, as any remaining skepticism on the man’s face paled and then disappeared entirely. Without prompting, his hands reached up to unzip his fleece jacket as Auston pulled his sweater sleeve down. He watched the man tug his shirt collar down enough to see the tip of a knight visor, embellished with ivory green accents. Having both proven their respective affiliations, the tension between them snapped like kindling, and Auston could finally slump his shoulders and relax, teeth still clenched with apprehension.

“You’re the first Maple Leaf I’ve met face to face,” the man admitted, eyes tamer once they’d established there was a basis of trust between them. It wasn’t hero worship on his face, but it was a close relative. The Leafs were one of the biggest names in the industry.

“I could say the same thing; you’re the first Knight I’ve met. Good thing I got lucky on my first try, or I might have been out of luck.” The man flashed what Auston could only describe as an “aw shucks” face, the tip of his boot circling around one of the pebbles Auston had kicked.

“Well around here it’s unlikely you’ll run into someone that hasn’t dabbled, as I said. They’d probably just point you in the right direction,” he said, looking back up and over Auston’s shoulder for a split second. Following his look, Auston could see a worn-out truck that definitely hadn’t been there when he walked over parked near one of the roadside parking metres. He tried not to make his trepidation aware on his face and forced a smile, hoping it would be convincing enough to distract the man from his momentary fear.

“I doubt there’s anyone around here to point right now,” he said. And it was true. He hadn’t seen one pedestrian on the sidewalks, or a single car drive by without a window smashed in. More than any terror it invoked was a resonating sadness at how crippling poverty could be. The man flinched.

“Oh yeah, that. The people are nuts about one of the drive by shootings that took out an older lady. I don’t blame ‘em, but it means people don’t come here unless they want to be here.”

“I suspected as such.” He straightened his back, mind flashing with his objective. “Look, you know why I’m here and I know why you’re here. Shall we get to business?” It should have ignited the engine of the other man, but instead he made himself smaller, the first semblance of insecurity bathing over him.

“I mean, I can patch you through if you want rifles and shit. But I’m more the front lines, grunt-work guy. I’m not involved in the inner workings.” Auston could scoff. Typical that the Knights would play catch-up with a man that didn’t know any better, treating him like a sacrificial lamb as they tested the waters. However, the man already looked timid enough and didn’t need Auston’s show of force blowing things out of proportion, so he reached his hand out for a mild-mannered shake. It was returned, albeit with a look of confusion.

“I can work with that. I just need someone to talk to, really. Front lines people are usually the most reliable, anyways.”

“You’re not wrong.” He peered up through his eyelashes, front teeth digging into his plush bottom lip. “You learn a lot. See a lot of people. If that’s what you were thinking of, well.” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to say anymore. The gun was already loaded.

“I’m the same. I’ll cut straight to the chase: what we’re looking for is someone to be our eyes and ears around the border. Not so much weapon sales but if you have the digits on what the others are buying that’d be incredible useful. Just, y’know, the same old quintessential things you do.”

“We can be anything you want us to be, if it pays. I’m not going to agree to anything right off the bat, but I will say trust factors into a lot of our decisions. At least, so I’m told.”

“That’s true, but I’ve already trusted you with my name. Maybe you’d feel better if you gave me yours?” The man’s hand, which had been toying with his sweater strings, fell to his waist. His smile returned.

“Marner. Mitch Marner. Nice to meet you Auston Matthews,” he said. When he honest-to-God grinned like that he resembled what Auston imagined the volunteers at the local animal shelter looked like, not an illegal weapons-trafficker. Commerce-training had made Auston grow desensitized to the snivelling two-faced know-it-alls and their fake smiles plastered ear to ear, so seeing a person look genuinely happy was throwing him for a loop.

“Feeling’s mutual. I won’t eat up too much of your time--time is money, after all--but do consider what I said. Talk it over with some people, you don’t have to keep it to yourself. It’s just an offer you can take up if you’re feeling it.” He shed a business card through the sleeve of his coat jacket, holding it out between two fingers for Mitch to take. He reached out and cupped he thin paper in his palm, inspecting the number written on the surface before turning back to Auston.

“I’m sure we can work something out. Just keep in touch.”

“Will do. I extend that offer to you as well. The card isn’t just for your higher-ups.”

“Coming on a bit strong, are we? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to lower my defences. You remind me of the street pickpockets, which, be wary of, by the way. Since you’re not localized.” It was a joke at heart, but Auston still patted the inside of his coat. Mitch laughed at his superstition, tucking the card out of sight into a front pocket where his phone could be seen lying flat against his thigh. The ripped jeans, which were anything but fitting for the weather, left nothing up to interpretation, and the first inklings of that sick, gushy feeling began to breed in Auston’s chest.

“You’re funny,” he said, deadpan. “If I may ask, what’s your line of work?” He couldn’t help himself, he wanted to see Mitch’s lips peel away again and show his crooked teeth. Right there, right then, a bond felt attainable, and he felt his defenses lower. Whatever was flourishing at him wasn’t reciprocated however, as Mitch quickly shook the question off.

“A bit intrusive now too. I’ll make you a deal. You sway with me a display of wealth, and maybe I’ll keep talking. You need to buy my privacy.”

“It doesn’t come with the syndicate’s alliance?” Mitch rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure you befriend every Bonnie and Clyde this side of the city, but I want to know it’s genuine and not some petty attempt to sweeten the deal. I’ll let my leaders know you’re interested in poking the fire, you get the info you want, and then we can discuss small details, deal?” Auston nodded in lieu of the new burst of confidence.

“I’m in London for the next week. Don’t be too long.” His tone of voice was significantly lighter than it had been when he first approached, and it was finally having an effect. Mitch stuck his tongue out, eyes half-lidded.

“Oh, I’d hate to keep you waiting,” he said, and then walked away, like he hadn’t just stolen Auston’s heart in the midst of a five minute conversation.

Auston made a resolute promise then and there to see him again, fleeing to the internet and prospects inside the city walls for information.

Statistically, having a friend on the other side was useful mainly because the Knights had a stronghold in London like no other and could weasel almost anything past border security. They also never let secrets die, which could be as useful as it was incriminating. Either way, giving the Leafs a grip in southern Ontario where they’d previously been outmatched, men behind the lines, and better yet, a grip on the American business and trades that they could use to expand in the future was almost too good to be true. That could all be accomplished with absorbing the gang when they were most vulnerable, and in the same future where they exchanged business practices they also took the Knights by the throat, draining the life out of them and tearing their clients out with their teeth.

Mitch, from the start, was like a pistol in the back pocket: there, incriminating, and dangerous, but good to have in case of emergencies. He used that train of thought to justify falling into bed with the man three days later. Every noise that escaped his mouth was angelic, and Auston couldn’t get out of his mind the way his toes curled when he pressed kisses down his stomach. For the first time in years, Auston could feel his heart stir.

It was no lie that from the moment he saw him he’d been overcome with a surge of want, hands twitching to hold the face still riddled with adolescent acne in his hands, brush their lips together and bathe in the warmth emanating from his body. And it’d been worth the years they had together. The eventual intimacy was nice, but he’d looked back more fondly on the domestic nights they’d spent curled up around each other. And he’d loved him. He _loved_ him. Wanted a future with him, away from coffee stained textbook pages and microwaved dinners.

At the time his supervisor, Mo, was taking him under his wing and training him to organize and manage subordinates, and he could visualize a future in the older man’s management with an arrangement on the side to keep Mitch close. Like a teenage girl, he laid in bed at night, staring up at his bedroom ceiling and running simulations through his head of what it’d be like when he was crowned the king of the criminal empire. How he’d lie through his teeth and then chase the affections of the delinquent on the other side, who he would do anything, even die, for.

Which was why he was unspeakably angry, seething with unbridled, even unrequited, feelings when Mitch opted for an outing only months after Auston had graduated with his master’s. Not because Auston condemned him for shelving his former life, it was to be expected when recruitment agencies picked up lowlives that were way in over their head. No, the source of his anger stemmed from Mitch’s decision to look for witness protection and potential relocation, as his informant had detailed in the audial report of the conversation.

Apparently, he did so by contacting authorities and them coming to a consensus that he would be guaranteed protection should he act as an informant for five months. Organized stings like that could expose year’s worth of festering problems in a business, which is why the Leafs had taken precautions and paid off said branch of the police department; keeping the details of their alliance under wraps for purpose of tricking other gangs into running their mouths.

And though his former friend could retract a hand without leaving a fingerprint, he could not anticipate the authorities he put his life in the hands of to pick up the phone and call Auston mere hours later.

He remembered walking into his apartment, seeing the living room lights turned off and the bedsheets left undisturbed and physically feeling the retribution of his thoughts and opinions on the issue tossed around like they were in a washing machine. His most recent conversation with Mitch had been enough to perpetuate him running, and yet the realization burned Auston to the core.

“It wasn’t just you,” the investigator charged with relaying the information had said, “he seemed pretty desperate. For your own sake, I would keep an eye on this one.”

The remainder of his affection for the absconder, as his co-workers coined him, only bloomed the longer he dwelled on the hostility of the action, how easy Mitch had turned his cheek and denied any and all help Auston had offered him. The friendship they shared evolved into an obsession. So he continued his reign over the city under wraps, graduated with honours and was employed under Mo’s watchful eye, but never teased the waters of a relationship again. His heart was claimed.

Like a cinematic picture, that conversation with the officer ran through his head, until he’d successfully plotted out every way he could bring Mitch to his doorstep, lock the door shut, bar the windows, and keep Mitch at his beck and call until they could discuss whatever impulsive thoughts were on his mind without the inclination of freedom poisoning Mitch's thoughts. The more he thought, the darker the fantasies got, flirting with the idea of holding his lover down and feeding him lie after lie until he had no attraction to the idea of running ever again.

Whatever was scaring him was background noise, should have been easily remediable before physicality even came into question. If he had Mitch’s best interests in mind it wasn’t really what would be defined as a sinister plot, could it? He knew men that would bust open a pregnant woman’s kneecap with a mere dismal, so the idea that any affections of his were calamitous was downright pitiful, and that strengthened his resolve.

 

**Present Day**

Safe to say, it'd been a solid six months since he thought long and hard about the “Mitch” situation.

Now the possibility of acting on months of undiluted desire became all too real. He felt faint with the rush of ideas pushing to the forefront of his mind. It was unlikely this would ever happen again, so he had to carry the mission out with precision. He’d have to play dirty, and make Mitch Marner never want to concern himself with the above ground populous again.

His hand, which was fastened to the side of the car’s door, squeezed a handful of leather. Freddie looked over from where he had on hand situated on the steering wheel, eyes questioning from under the lens of his tinted glasses.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine. I’ll be better when we get to London.” He looked out the window at the multitude of transport trucks and minivans alike running in a perpetual relapse of back and forth up the highway. It was just visual noise, but Auston was looking for a distraction, anything to put the brakes on the onslaught of headache-inducing fantasies he knew were too soaked in malice to even touch.

It should have been the first of many warning signs.

By the time they reached London, after a startling one and a half hours on the road, a barrage of flurries were painting the street a fluffy white colour. Traffic had slowed to a crawl on the main roads and he found himself glancing at his studded watch whenever it became bumper to bumper slow. He prided himself on his patience, his ability to wait and perceive threats before striking which made him a man to fear at the negotiating table, but any perseverance of his had disappeared the moment he heard who it was he’d be talking to. He blamed his eagerness on the face, still fresh in his mind, and the many questions he had yet to answer.

He couldn’t have been more grateful to see the storage locker’s font come into view of the windshield. It was absolute chaos outside, what with the rapidly escalating snowstorm, so he paid his condolences to Freddie (as generously as he could given that his mind was on other pursuits) and stepped outside. Immediately, he felt eyes on him, plastered from every angle, assessing the situation. He took a deep breath, reminding himself to keep his composure, and waved down the men prowling out front, flashing his indication when their eyes glinted in anticipation of a fight.

Inside, it was hauntingly empty. The main building the lockers were attached to must have been renovated because it looked like a former party venue. The wireless fluorescent lights were swinging from their respective perches, chairs overturned and waiting on the body of the tables they were attached to. The body of the locale was but an empty shell, though they at least had the decency to turn the lights off in the back so it didn’t look like an old shopping district.

Men appeared to ooze out of every crevice, some with their teeth knocked out who leered at Auston when he strolled past, and all painted blue and white or green with tattoos and body modifications. He nodded at the more notorious faces and walked the winding hallway behind the first storage units covered head to toe in a thick sheet of rust. The tiles gleamed a sickly pale green from under his feet, probably rinsed (bleached even) of the beatings he knew would have happened now that the local gangs had taken ownership of the place.

In the middle of the lobby he could see Kadri conversing with a party of beaten-up scavengers, one of which was bleeding rather heavily from the nose and pressing a bloodied tissue to his face. The bridge of his nose was twisted, bent out of place, and Auston’s skin felt clammy. Not that he was a stranger to violence, but it flirted with the idea of bad events taking place. All he could do was assume based on what he saw, and what he saw was two men with tousled hair and scrunched knuckles panting their lungs out.

He coughed to make himself known, and Kadri gave him a long, lasting look before bursting into a great smile. He beckoned Auston closer with one hand, dropping the duffle bag he had slung over his shoulder to the floor to make room.

“Matts, hey! You made it.” He brought him in for a one-armed hug, pressing Auston close with intent behind his pitched breathing, the softness of his embrace. Auston let go of his foreboding skepticism of the man for a single moment to return it.

“I told you I would try,” he reminded him. Kadri let go, taking a step back to maintain a professional distance between them.

“Well yeah, but this is fast, even for you. Plus you didn’t sound as convinced on the phone,” he said despairingly. Auston waved him off.

“Whatever. Is he here?”

“Yeah. Was a bitch to transport though. It’s harder than you think to cram someone into a van.” One of the men behind him agreed with a hum, confirming Auston’s speculations.

“I would never have thought,” he said, voice devoid of emotion. It provoked a shove from Kadri, who by then was getting a bit too touchy-feely with Auston for his tastes.

“Be serious,” he said. “We’re sort of leaning on you to change his mind. Otherwise, we have no option but to kill him.” The thought made Auston sick to his stomach. He swallowed down the feeling and tongued the roof of his mouth to make the instinct to gag disappear.

“I’m going to need some background. What exactly did you tell him?” he asked. Kadri straightened his back, tilting his head to the right in an offer to walk together. Leaving the henchmen behind, the two of them disappeared behind a velvet curtain separating the backroom from a set of grungy hallways that looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years. The thick smell of mold made Auston blanch initially, but Kadri showed absolutely no problems adjusting and began talking.

“As you know, Mo wants us moving in on London, taking their valuables, and of course prospects, by April. So I’m like, ‘if I’m bringing people over, I better get to it.’” He pitched his voice deeper, to whom he was imitating, Auston had no clue. “And y’know, we talked about Mitch, so I thought ‘it’s now or never.’”

“I told you he tried to double cross us,” he said.

“Yes, yes, but hey, think of it like tasteful blackmail. An opportunity, even.” Auston decided not to comment on the near oxymoron Kadri was voicing, instead setting a brisk pace that forced the other man to pump his legs faster.

“So I ask him to meet me for some assignment down here. With good intentions. I see It as a job opportunity and expose myself, expecting him to be a bit angry, a bit resigned. But no, he goes fucking ballistic! Starts yelling that it was all you and that he was set up. I’m trying to calm him down because he’s small but he’s loud and he just confirms that he’s not going to keep his mouth shut. I tell him it’s that or death and he charges me.” He showed Auston his right hand, which was bruised at the knuckle and cut in multiple spots at the base of the thumb. It looks more like he got into a fist fight versus the explanation of him being charged at and going on the defensive.

“Okay so--“

“So--you didn’t let me finish--I tell him we know he was trying to get out and offer our alternative. He does the old ‘oh I don’t know what you’re talking about’ so I pull out the receipts. He’s intimidated, I give him the run down, and, well, he runs for it alright. Makes it to the main lobby before we hit him over the side of his head and drag him away. And the rest is history.”

They reached a giant steel door that was bolted from the inside, leaving the impression of screws through the surface. With them being so deep into the tunnels of the location, the presence of it raised more unnecessary questions, but he was a stranger to Kadri’s style of operations and his mean of holding people hostage.

“You couldn’t have been more civil in how you approached him? Of course he was going to run.”

“That’s where you come in. He thinks I’m a no good traitor and that’s not going to change. It’s done, and it would happen regardless of what methods I chose. Now it’s your turn to work some magic. If he’s going to listen to anyone, he’s going to listen to you.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Kadri shooted him a look that told him everything he needed to know, which coincidentally confirmed all of his worst fears.

“Well I don’t want to hurt the kid, but if he isn’t going to join us, then he has to die.” He bent over and grabbed a leather strap flayed out on the concrete. He then heaved upwards, pulling the metal sheet up in a series of persistently timed grunts. Though initially hard to see what it cradled inside, Auston could see the faint impression of two bodies, ceremoniously anticipating Kadri’s arrival with stiff arms and bent backs. One in particular was kneeling on the floor, breathing so rattled that it rivalled the sound of the roll-up door being discarded into the ceiling. One look at the shaggy head of hair once his eyes adjusted to the crippling darkness told Auston everything he needed to know.

 

**October 22, 2020**

“I need to talk with some of the men in the back, they’re expecting me for my haul money. You should be fine at the bar, just don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

Kadri was dragging him out again, for protection, as he called it. It was a lacklustre excuse; no one would willingly walk into a lion’s den even if it meant a cash reward, and Kadri was a very social, very open person that drew too much unwanted attention anyways. On the other hand, he played the Knights like a fiddle, making weapon deals for them at the drop of a hat and then in the same breath loading his crime proceeds into the businesses back in Toronto. It was likely a good idea, in the long run, to keep someone like that close, even if it was unbearable to deal with at times like this.

He supposed he just had to suck it up tonight.

“M’kay,” he said. He tucked his leather wallet into his suit jacket’s pocket and shrugged his way through the slobbering bar patrons with their glasses of whisky and rum in hand. Though it was hot underneath the layers of formal attire to begin with, more piercing than any flirtatious compliments thrown his way was the eyes he could feel tracing his pattern to and from the door and counter. Nestled in the middle of the hierarchy, he knew it was going to be suspicious but not incriminating to be wandering the streets under the control of a rival organization, however with his best interests in mind the paranoia only continued to fester within. He kept his arms close to himself, tried not to jostle the gun hostler underneath his jacket, and made a beeline for a drink to keep his composure in check.

It was by sheer coincidence that he saw Mitch at the bar counter, chatting up a local. Once his eyes caught the lure of fluffy hair and dimpled cheeks, he was hooked. The fact that he was engaged in a conversation with another person was irrelevant to Auston’s interests.

The man seated in Mitch’s company looked like a safe bet; small, with a pointed face and messy curls. He resonated a liberal arts vibe that made him, generally speaking, a safe hookup for criminals looking to work off some sexual tension. He was someone that wouldn’t know who they were tonight, nor tomorrow when he woke up and the other side of the bed was empty.

But that smile of his, it looked so lecherous. It bled onto the sides of his face as he looked at Mitch, and that itch from earlier came back with a vengeance. He likely had that look because he didn’t perceive Auston as a threat, just some clueless best friend wondering where the night was taking them. Well, Auston had business to do, and he could easily take him away.

He leaned in close, letting his lips come close to brushing the shell of Mitch’s ear. In such close proximity, he could feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“I need to talk to you for a moment.” Mitch cranked his head to the side, glassy eyes shooting him an amused, but perplexing look. If he recognized him, he made no show of it.

“Later, I got business to finish up here,” he whispered back, drumming his fingers on the counter as his friend edged closer.

“No, now.” He made sure his voice left no room for bantering. In response, Mitch threw his shoulder back to try and push him away. Instead, he leaned forward, putting his wrist on the surface of the counter and leaning in until he had effectively shielded Mitch from the prying eyes of the other man, who was chittering happily to himself.

“What the fuck Auston?” he said, content facade slipping away now that Auston had isolated them from the stuffy atmosphere of the bar, trapping them inside of his arms. Auston felt the first nudge from an elbow, a flick of a hand as Mitch tried to put distance between them, but not only was it done half-heartedly, Mitch couldn’t remove Auston from the situation on a good day.

He tossed his head up, looking the other man right in the pupil, and took advantage of Mitch’s confusion to blurt out, “I’m sorry, but something came up, we have to leave.” Immediately, his course features fell, shoulders slumping. Mitch made a loaded noise, opening his mouth to say something else but was pushed off of the stool, waist encased by Auston’s arm. His friend gave a little salute, turning back to call on the bartender as the two slunk into the indistinct seating area, blurred with booths and men made dizzy by an embarrassing abuse of alcohol.

To his credit, Mitch remained quiet as Auston manoeuvred them both through the crowds of slobbering patrons, one hand fisted in the fabric of Mitch’s white dress shirt so that he couldn’t make a break for the safety of the backroom. Auston could tell he was affronted though, something to do with how the glassy look in his eyes had bolded, his breaths coming quick and lips pressed tightly together like he’d swallowed a live pigeon and couldn’t let it escape. It was almost comical, bypassing the determined look on his face.

If they were going to argue about this it would be impractical to do it around people already questioning by his appearance, not to mention a social media disaster if word got out. Instead, he tugged his compliant friend out through the front doors, shivering through the autumn chill and auburn leaves dappling the sidewalks. People were out and about in the town, but looked all too concerned with their devices to pay them any heed; still, he pressed the both of them against the brick tiling around the back alley until Mitch nearly squeaked.

“Is this gonna take long?” Mitch whined, rubbing his arms in a vapid attempt to warm himself up. In only a dress shirt, it was a worthless pursuit. “I’ave someone to apologize to for so rudely leaving mid-conversation.”

“I needed to see you,” he said.

“You an’ half the city. I wouldn’t stick around here if I were you Matts, this place is crawling with _my kind_.” He raised his eyebrows for added emphasis before splitting into giggles.

“You’re drunk.”

“No shit. S’my night off.” He was so floppy-jointed that he had difficulty patting Auston’s shoulder. Auston took a hold of his hand, folding it back into his chest.

“It’s dangerous, ‘specially when your guys are picking fights with us.” Mitch’s eyelids fell, eyes dropping to peer shamelessly at Auston’s lips. Sexual tension which had been building for the last few encounters was coming alive between them without touch even factoring in. It felt like, in that moment, he shed his skin and came alive.

“Seems like an _awful_ long way to come just to ‘talk’ ‘ith me. Don’t tell me I’ve got a bounty for consorting with you already.” His voice had dissipated to a rough purr, fingers tracing the incisions of the brick wall behind him. “The commission price must be pr _ett_ y desirable.”

“Oh, I’d never kill you,” he swore. “We’re already such good friends.” He humoured Mitch’s lopsided grin, pulling them deeper into the alley where they wouldn’t be disturbed. When he looked back at Mitch he found the mood had changed, Mitch’s eyes sobered up in a display of urgency. He continued.

“And good friends can have civil discussions. I have a job for you.”

“I’m hurt.” Mitch put a hand over his heart, bottom lip quivering. “I thought you came here t’mend our relationship.” Auston rolled his eyes, placing one hand over Mitch’s warm one and squeezed.

“I need you to patch me in with Connor McDavid, or if not that then at least put a good word in. So far, we’ve been unsuccessful in wooing him to our campaign.” It wasn’t a complete lie, just an exaggeration of the truth. Buffalo wanted some intel they didn’t have on hand. So long as their relationship with London was soured, they couldn’t access it. Mitch was just a means to an end.

“Wooing? If you’re going to use that terminology with me and expect me not to laugh in your face you’re sorely mistaken,” he said, then leaned in. “Ha ha.”

“Fine. Persuading, enticing, showing him the light of day. It’d be in both of our best interests--“

“What’s in it for me? Not that I don’t endorse your’a...little side project which I’m _sure you’ve told so many about_ , but my boss might not be too happy with me meddling with you right now,” he pointed out, gnawing at the inside of his cheek.

“Whatever you want. I can designate more places to work closer to Toronto, pay off your debts, remove that bounty of yours that you’re so concerned with.” That got a genuine laugh out of Mitch.

“You’re pretty charming Matts, I’ll give you that.” His lips peeled away to reveal a full, healthy smile. Auston wanted to peck at the scrunched corners of his eyes.

“So I’ve been told,” he said, voice strained.

“I can tell Davo that, since you seem pretty smug about it. If you go after him the same way you’re going after me, well, you might just get lucky.”

“Something tells me you’re not completely swayed.” Mitch raised his hand to stop him, palm flat.

“Don’t tell me, it was the sarcasm.”

“How about I sweeten the deal; I’ll talk with Mo, the man in charge around where I come from, and see if maybe we can cover some of your debts, give you immunity down here. Even toss around a few of your enemies if you like.” Mitch tilted his head so that he could near fit it in the crook of Auston’s neck.

“Then I’ll have to talk to Naz, the man in charge around here, and see what we might need. Money, never hurts too, if you’re trying to woo, as you call it.” Auton blinked. Hearing Kadri’s nickname come up in conversation opened up a completely new set of circumstances he hadn’t been expecting. He made a mental note to ask about Mitch later, collect some information, and maybe some insight on where he could find him again.

“Then consider whatever is mine yours.” He pressed his body in, until there was nowhere Mitch could go. Even as he bent to accommodate Auston’s weight, eventually there was no space left in-between them. Mitch’s hand gently retreated back, elbows bending to let him fold in, but Auston was one step ahead of him, grabbing both wrists and pinning them above his head. The added height left Mitch balancing on the tip of his toes, neck revealed as his chin tilted up, looking at the additional restraint keeping him boxed in and out of the public eye.

“Fraternizing with the enemy, I believe there’s rules against that,” he puffed, keeping his eyes level with Auston’s. There was a swirling ocean inside of his iris’, contrasting the glow of the pub icon’s blue signage painting his face a solemn hue.

“Then don’t say anything.” He leaned in close, brushing their lips. When he inhaled he could pick up on the smell of intoxication licking at the edge of Mitch’s consciousness. He was hopelessly in his thrall and all Auston could think about was taking advantage of it.

They met halfway, breath steadily pushed out of Mitch as he was squeezed by the combined pressure of Auston’s chest and the wall behind him. A flush bloomed on the skin of his cheeks and dripped like wax down his neck where Auston’s mouth kissed little half-moon shapes with his teeth into the palpable give of his body. Their hips chased a rhythm of push and pull, hands pulling shirts out from where they’d been tucked into immaculately groomed pants. Every unspoken word he’d wanted to say came out in the form of a kiss, a bite, a half-whispered moan when they parted and he could only see the lashes framing Mitch’s eyes, which looked like little windows, reflecting back his incessant want.

By all accounts, doing this meant spitting on his years of fidelity to his company and underground business. But, like how an addict he couldn’t resist the high of his addictive substance, he couldn’t stop his repeated pushing, lifting Mitch higher and higher off the ground until his shirt rode up and his head flew back.

“You’re so beautiful baby,” he gritted through his teeth, performing another dirty grind of his hips that made Mitch’s wrists shake uncontrollably.

“That’s it, there you go,” he continued. He only continued to speed up his pace, shoving his own abdominal discomfort to the back of his mind. His only concern now was watching Mitch’s mouth open in a perfect oval shape, body trembling as Auston held him in what was arguably his most vulnerable moment. He hadn’t even noticed those spindly legs of his had formed a vice around his waist until Mitch was physically unable to hold himself up and slumped over on top of him. In that position his arms could wrap around Auston’s head, nose buried in his hair where he could feel the urgency of every breath, pulse racing where his forehead touched the collarbone of Mitch’s chest.

In his back pocket his phone vibrated, likely Kadri, back from whatever blood money he was exchanging with the men inside. He would come looking, and the last thing either of them needed was his exposure, forcing him to declare a side in front of a dishevelled Mitch, barely clinging to consciousness in a sludgy haze of euphoria. He pressed a final kiss into the groove of his neck and gently let the man down, where his legs immediately gave away under his weight and sent him barreling into Auston.

“S’morry.”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry, just--“ He adjusted his position, one arm on Auston’s bicep where his suit jacket was hanging, half-on, half-off. His legs swung around and like that, he was standing again, hair frazzled, shirt wrinkled, but composure intact. “There.”

“Will you be able to get inside alright, or do you want me-“

“No, no I’m good. I’m great.” He flashed a smile, the edges fuzzy with the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through him, no doubt. “Thanks. We should do this again sometime.”

“Of course. Just don’t forget to talk to McDavid, ‘kay? And uh, maybe don’t tell your boss. Just to be safe” No offence to Mo, or Babs, or anyone in the seat of power, but Kadri was still a person of interest so long as he was affiliated with their rivals. Auston didn’t want him knowing too much about their personal endeavours if he could help it. Mitch, to his credit, coincided with his demands without much protest, though his clothed foot did kick Auston’s ankle gently.

“I’ll let London and Toronto know I’m under the protection of Auston Matthews then. I hope you do keep your side of the bargain. It will make things a whole lot easier in the future.” His lips found the bridge of Auston’s nose, where he placed a tender kiss that reverberated with affection. Coincidentally, the same feeling was swelling in Auston’s chest, barely satisfied with just having Mitch’s neck and face to claim. He felt like his body couldn’t contain it, like it would jump out and he’d come back to awareness in the back of a vehicle with Mitch screaming into his lap.

He didn’t have the heart to warn him about what might be on the horizon, that the Leafs were coming close to setting up police embargos that would force the Knights to their knees. That was the price to be paid on the street. Finance-wise, you could be secure, but there was no guarantee the next morning would come without the law enforcement shouting at you through your front door. If you couldn’t keep up, you deserved to be left behind, and Toronto in particular took no prisoners.

Still, he knew one conquest he’d like when London was theirs to keep. It all felt so foreign, so ugly, but watching Mitch return to the pub entrance and nonchalantly brushing past Kadri, all he could feel was that cumbersome urge to possess sink its thorns into his mind until all he could think about was acting then without any care for his reputation.

In hindsight, maybe it would have been better to act before things got too heated between them. At least then, something could’ve been salvaged.

 

**Present Day**

He looked so small, bent over like he was.

Under the scrutiny of the other enforcer also in the locker, he walked around the folded body as cautiously as possible. The locker’s “enclosure” as he called it was made up entirely of stacked tables and chairs, all leaning against each other in a domino fashion until they reached a bloodstained bar counter at the back. Clearly, less care had been put into maintaining a facade of excellence here; the floors were dusty, stained, and cracked, and just walking to their hostage took an uneasy amount of precaution in lieu of fallen cigarettes butts and needles, of all things.

He could hear a snuffling noise coming from Mitch, dust particles dancing around the side of his face where the harsh white backlighting was hitting. His shoulders looked ready to pop out of their sockets, hands likely rubbed raw with whatever Kadri had used to restrain him. Gently, as to not spook him, he lowered himself down on one knee to get a closer look.

His skin was clammy, pebbled with little beads of sweat around the base of his neck and shoulders. It dampened the fabric of his shirt, plastering it down the expanse of his spine where the peachy hue of the base gleamed through. He outreached a hand, feather-dusting up the shirt’s seams before pausing at the folded white collar. Underneath, he could see the indication of a seal, too finely shaped to be a mole, and it sparked a fire inside of him, aching to claim, to drag his fingers through the sheen of sweat and press in until the skin moulded to fit his thumbprint.

He peeled the layer of white back, expecting and in turn, receiving the image of an intricately designed knight’s visor. The olive green pigment was tangible, familiar, and easily burned itself into the back of his conscience. In front of him, Mitch bowed up, stretching his back until his muscles popped. The poor thing was shaking, teeth an incoherent mess of clambering that made his whole chin vibrate incessantly. They both knew he was anticipating the muzzle of a pistol to crank itself up against his skull and then wait for a finger to pull the corresponding trigger.

The skinny, limp form in front of him was unparalleled to the calculated behaviour of his former friend, capable of slinking out of the surveillance of bank cameras in a moment’s notice and sweet-talking his way out of a phone call to the local police. Now, on the opposite end of the spectrum, old feelings were pulsing through his arteries, hands twitching with unbridled energy to take, take, _take_.

Kadri cleared his throat, directing his attention away. Both he and the other man were silhouetted by the fluorescent lights just outside the unit, exhaling in unison when Auston stood to meet them face to face. Without the protection of the metal door their voices weren’t obscured, so their entire conversation took place with scantily clad expressions and word-mouthing. He could almost laugh; an intricate game of charades was being played between two adult men while five feet away a kidnapping victim held onto the few tendrils of privilege he still had left.

He managed to convey with a repeated slide of his eyes that he wanted privacy. Logically, the less familiarity Mitch recognized, the more he would realize he’d exchanged family for freedom, and therefore the easier it was to break his spirit. To have Kadri in the room, showing his face, would be to install false hope in him that a friend was on the other side, waiting, one foot braced to run and help him if need. But, as Auston would hope to make clear, Kadri had long since neglected that innate desire to elope, find a spectre of hope and take off. His home was in Toronto, and none of his empathy was dedicated towards someone who'd given it up for a petty shot at coin.

Thankfully, Kadri compiled without argument, leaving with the other man in tow, who was casting Mitch an apologetic look. They were polite enough to pull the locker door closed, leaving the only lighting source as an old light stand’s harsh glare. It perfectly hit Mitch’s blindfold and exaggerated his cheekbones, and the yearning to grab his face was tampering with Auston’s state of mind. Patience deteriorating, Auston could do no more than clench his hands together waiting for the echo of the men’s footsteps to recede in volume. Only once Kadri’s smug face disappeared from sight and mind could Auston return to admiring the bound predicament belonging to his lover.

Auston cupped the man’s jaw, pushing it up up up, until he was whining and his throat, flushed under the exertion, was imprinted in Auston's mind. How easy would it be to press in with his fingers until he choked and purple and blue spiral patterns bloomed under his touch? And it would be more than flattering to encircle his neck and push his palms in until the remaining handprints were a permanent black reminder that no shower scrubbing could erase. Regardless of today's outcome, he wanted some physical reminder on Mitch's body, a brand, one exclusive to him, permanent, and mirroring the imprint of intimacy, the desire Mitch had stained him with.

Auston inched his hand up, caressing the baby smooth skin up the jugular. He cradled Mitch's frantic pulse and split his fingers to hold each ear from in front and behind. Up this close, he was fanned by the heat of every exhale, itching to press the nostrils close until he squirmed. _An exercise for a later date_.

"Mitchell Marner," he said, deliberately spacing out each word. In his hands, Mitch stilled, a promise of a whimper dangling from his lips.

 

**September 2, 2024**

Continuing an illicit affair in the shadows of a billion dollar tycoon was arguably a bad decision on Auston’s part, but that night had lit the fuse that kept his fire burning.

He didn’t go as far as to ask for more field work, but he asked the men under his control to keep track of whoever they saw snooping around, what they looked like, responded to. He gradually built up a portfolio of locations where Mitch would either be assigned to or hang around and then would make it a habit of stopping by for drinks or a friendly chat.

They were young and stupid, so, of course, the night would be young and they’d already be chasing their own high out back or in a shoebox motel room where records couldn’t prove they’d been. Fornicating with the enemy was a sign of disloyalty, that you were controlled by desire more than drive, but even with the consequences swirling in and out of his mind he couldn’t stop himself.

He should have known it would leak out, and to whom, he should’ve anticipated.

“You’ve been out a lot,” Kadri said, one day at lunch. They were both at corporate in Toronto, working their actual jobs, so talk of the underground world was an occurrence he wasn’t prepared for. Auston looked up from where he was pouring himself a mug of coffee from the new machine the branch had just received as a “thank you gift” from a shop down the road they had been messing with. The smell of coffee somehow grew thicker with each passing moment, as if Auston’s senses were honing in on anything but the rough octave of Kadri’s incessant voice.

“Well, what did you expect? It’s a busy time of year.”

“I know what you’ve been up to. Marns runs his mouth pretty quickly when he’s affronted.” The pot bubbled with heat, the sound of liquid hitting the bottom of the stained navy blue cup a seducing siren’s call. He wanted to drink down the heated substance and get back to his desk, far from this conversation.

“I--what?” He feigned surprise, placing the pot back on the warming plate slowly. Behind him, Kadri laughed under his breath, pausing only when a co-worker from outside of their inner circle quickly entered to grab a bagged lunch out of the fridge. The two stood in a pregnant quiet, hearing the fridge door click shut and the sound of loafers disappear down the tiled hall. Only then did Kadri pull up close, enough so that Auston could practically feel the heat of his breath on the back of his neck.

“Surprised me too. Didn’t know you had it out for pretty little boys like him.”

“It’s not like that. He’s older than me.” Auston turned in time to see Kadri point a finger at him, eyebrows cocked. His face gleamed happily from its newfound purpose, which spelt nothing but trouble for Auston.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” he sneered. “Don’t worry, I’m on your side here. I want to help you.”

“I can’t imagine you’d have an ulterior motive,” he said, voice dropping in pitch. He brushed past Kadri in a vapid attempt to make him drop the conversation and sat down on one of the stools attached to the row of tables. Any hopes of Kadri sticking to his side of the workings and leaving him to drink his coffee in peace were squashed under the man’s unbearable curiosity to pick at Auston’s scabs.

“No no, you see, he’s useful. He’s skilled and could bring some pretty potent stuff here,” he said.

“Stuff like what, espionage?” He took a shot in the dark, but judging by Kadri’s energetic nod, it landed somewhere in the ballpark.

“Something like that. But I’m not too good with the talking stuff. If I say anything and he peeps,” he made a cut throat motion, “I could be out, and that ain’t good.”

“So what are you implying?” His hands were holding onto the body of the cup so tightly he could see the knuckles were bleached white. Underneath his skin, at the base of his wrists, he could feel an ache pressing into his circulation. His fingertips tingled.

“I thought maybe you could sway him. He’d probably listen to you, if you give him a good enough time.” There it was. Auston didn’t even need to look to know he was making another stupid face. It wasn’t working, never did. Auston didn’t even know why he tried. He tried sipping his drink as an outing to giving a solid answer, but he gravely underestimated the temperature of the coffee until the roof of his mouth burned with unexpected heat.

He spit out the scalding liquid and leaned forward to avoid the excess drops landing on his suit. He lunged to grab a handful of napkins out of a nearby holder to wipe the drops dangling from his chin. All the while Kadri sat, with the patience of a saint, waiting for a proper reply. There was no denying the inevitable with him, it seemed.

Auston glared at him through his peripheral vision and finally let the coil inside of his stomach unravel with his admission.

“It’s a sexual-tension related thing. I think. I doubt we’d share any chemistry outside of the illicitness of our actions.”

“Well I’m just saying, he works for me. He’s good with the books and even better if you need to send him out to get things for you. If you can get him to even consider it, I think Mo would be willing to stick you two together.” The briefest vision flashed behind Auston’s eyelids, of seeing Mitch either around the office or in his apartment complex. The normalcy he craved, that made his fingertips itch when he stood under the pelting vengeance of the shower head, never felt closer.

It tampered with his decision making.

“That depends. Would he fit in around here?” he asked, tapping his fingers against the heated rim of his mug.

“He’s not highly educated if that’s what you mean. If we’re talking trades, well, he can handle gun trafficking without much difficulty. Good as a honeypot too, if you play your cards right.”

“Yeah, but I mean here.” He gestured at their surroundings. Kadri sucked in a lungful of air, nodding his head from side to side as if weighing his options.

“Well, maybe not here. But I’m sure you could keep him busy in the afternoon.” Auston gave Kadri a long considering look.

“Where would I find him?”

Later that afternoon, Kadri pointed him in the direction of a ratted old fast food and gas station joint bordering a highway exit. Tourist traffic was heavy in the day, though at the time he visited the onslaught of late summer rain made visibility impossible and kept many drivers cooped up on the roadsides. It did make the perfect weather to steal a wallet out from under someone though, seeing as how the fog was so heavy you couldn’t see one foot in front of you. That alone should have been an indicator that criminal activity would be bustling.

The overcast kept the moon concealed, cloaking the roads in a thick veil of shadow. It made the neon lighting blare obnoxiously from side establishments and local motels decorating the pavement. The gas station in question was bathed in fog, with only three vehicles parked at the neighbouring convenience store taking up the lot. It was a dingy, secluded location, and it looked like something straight out of a murder mystery novel.

Auston asked his bodyguard Freddie to park at the dispenser farthest from the lit convenience store windows. While technically not breaking rules, he would arouse suspicion poking around with some rival gang’s nobody in the line of sight of a co-worker.

“I’m going to have a look around, stretch my legs. You fill up--oh. And don’t use the deposit here. Pay inside,” he said. Freddie gave a short nod, exiting the vehicle at the same time Auston did, and began following his instructions. Once Auston heard the head of the nozzle hit the receptacle he made a quick exit, rounding the tossed garbage cans and making a beeline for the ice freezers around the corner. The rack of propane tanks almost hid the hunched over form of Mitch Marner, who was staring down at his phone, thumbs skimming across the screen.

He approached stealthily, keeping his head down until he was close enough for his footsteps to be heard. He tried to put on a smile, but regardless, Mitch looked up suddenly and was spooked enough to jump up, back hitting the wall shingles until they reverberated. It wretched an involuntary laugh from Auston, who couldn’t help the uneasy swish of affection from leaking out through his facial expression. Mitch was exclusive in how he pulled emotions unheard of from Auston’s world into reality, proving yes, he could feel, and that maybe Mitch was a special specimen capable of exciting him into normality. It was addictive.

“Well, that’s one way to welcome me,” he said, once Mitch had gotten over his initial surprise.

“What the hell man, don’t sneak up on me like that!” He looked fluffed up, like a kitten trying to overcompensate against a much larger predator. Auston barely choked back a laugh, but couldn’t hide his smile.

“I’m sorry. I thought you heard me though.” Mitch waved his hand, pressing the side of his phone until the screen died. Without the light of it, the surrounding area plunged into darkness that, combined with the bad weather conditions, made the already colder night temperature plummet.

“Yeah, whatever. What are you doing here though?”

“Stopping for gas.” Mitch winced, not so subtly looking over Auston’s shoulders where their black vehicle was parked, Freddie whistling a tune beside it.

“Not too smart,” he hissed, not even attempting to look innocent. With his puffy red cheeks and eyes swelling with unspoken humour, Auston could call him nothing but endearing.

“Oh believe me, I know what you’re up to,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets to escape the biting air.

“Is that why you’re here, to shut me down?”

“On the contrary, I have a proposition for you, a new one.”

“Just for me?” Auston made an affirmative noise, corralling Mitch in close. They shared a chaste kiss, though Mitch quickly pulled away.

“I got you your immunity. You’re a free man in Toronto.” Mitch placed a hand on his chest, tilting his head so that it balanced on the skin of his left shoulder.

“Wow, my hero.” He looked up through his eyelashes, waterlogged as a result of being exposed to the weather’s wrath for so long. “I would thank you, but to be fair it is part of the deal.”

“So it is. I do have a request though.”

“Do ask.”

“I mean no offence, but you don’t look like the kind to be peddling on street corners. Tell me why you’re really here.” Mitch’s face dropped, his body trying to back away out of instinct and hitting the hall.

“Now that’s a bit out of the blue don’t you think?” Auston shrugged, at a loss for what to say (he didn’t exactly think it through). Mitch continued.

“I’m not. Not really. Just got handed the short end of the stick I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I only tell my really close friends.” Hit bottom lip disappeared under his teeth. Disgusting it may be, but it tempted Auston enough to plant another kiss, his lips brushing the surface of tooth as he retreated. It made him feel that much closer, especially with a part so soft caressing the hard, pointed bone.

“I can keep a secret,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. Mitch eventually relented, patting Auston’s hand in reassurance, though if it was for Auston or for himself, it remained unclear.

“Well let’s see, I guess we’d start with my parents. Dad got into some trouble and we were out on the streets when we couldn’t pay the mortgage. My brother knew a thing or two about making fake identification plates just to get by and passed it down to me. Once I knew I could make a living, I dunno, it stuck. No one would hire a street boy anyways.” Auston frowned, bringing a hand up to stroke Mitch’s cheek with his thumb. Mitch laughed to himself, but pressed into the care regardless. They both swayed together, pelted by the beginning of a fresh rainfall.

“I know one person who would. Who’d do something right now,” he said.

“What?”

“I know this is, again, out of the blue, but--“ Mitch shook his head, putting both hands on Auston’s chest where his jacket creased inward. Auston’s hand dropped from where it was pressing into the meat of his cheek, scorned by the negative reaction.

“Oh Matts, I can’t, you know that.” He wilted up like a parched flower. With him, he took a piece of Auston he had no idea was exposed.

“We could really use your help.” Mitch got up and started walking away, but Auston followed him step for step. “And I know you would do great, if you gave it a chance.” Mitch grabbed at his head with both hands, running his long fingers through his freshly cut hair repeatedly, as if to ground himself. Raindrops scattered in every direction as he combed through, nails scraping the scalp with little to no pity on their owner.

“Matts, I don’t want to get too absorbed in this lifestyle.” He talked into his jacket, as if afraid his words would lose power if he spoke them to Auston’s face.

“You just said--“

“I know what I said! Okay? I know I’m a hypocrite, and say what you will. I feel like if I really commit though, once I blacken my name, it’s over. Matts, you’re a good guy and I had fun but you belong here, I don’t.” His tone of voice suggested he had been working up the confidence to say it for a long time, but the excuse wasn’t good enough to satisfy Auston. Instead of feeling the urge to console and remedy his insecurities, the red-hot coals of anger were heating up in the pit of Auston’s belly.

“So what, you’re just going to leave?” It came with the barest inclination of disbelief, because there’d never been any indication Mitch had wanted anything other than the life he had. Months, no, _years_ worth of adulterous affairs were being pulled up by their roots, and in the seconds following the revelation Auston was scanning his memories for any hesitation or reluctance in the eyes of his beloved in all of their encounters.

Maybe he thought if he could justify seeing Mitch’s capacity for unfaithfulness in the past he could tear up the scaffolding of the relationship he’d worked so tediously to build. But no matter what memories he accessed, he could never see a time where Mitch looked visibly unhappy or unsatisfied, with no late-night conversations even touching the idea that he was working on distancing himself from criminal activity.

“Not right away. And keep your voice down, I don’t want someone to overhear.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m planning on like, y’know, going quietly. So you gotta advocate for me.”

“But you’re so good-“ Mitch clenched his teeth.

“Don’t pull that shit with me. I’m a bad person, and I don’t want to be bad.” Mitch slowed down, pulling his lip in between his teeth and biting down again. Sooner or later the skin would split and it’d start bleeding, and the traitorous urge instinct to cup his jaw and kiss it away still whispered at the back of Auston’s conscious thought.

“Have you always felt this way?” Auston asked, voice raw with trepidation. His hair was falling into his eyes, soaked from the rain. Mitch looked back up again, eyes round with an open sadness.

“I dunno. Sometimes it’s fun. I like having friends and money. But I’m no criminal. I’m just a kid that needs to pay rent by Sunday and happens to know a lot of the right people. It’s human instinct to try and survive, but once I’m out of the red, I won’t be sticking around.” Auston felt himself deflate, the little flicker of hope burning in his chest blow out. Mitch must have seen the change, because he lost whatever optimism remained in his face and walked up to Auston, steadying him with one hand.

“I just wanted you to know that. You’ve been a good friend, an even better fuck if I can be crude, but I just don’t want to like, break your heart. You deserve better. But I know there’s no changing your mind. Now, I think you’re better off getting out of here. Your guy is waiting.” Auston looked up, grabbing onto Mitch’s bicep and pulling him close. A few inches shorter and terribly underweight, Mitch had no choice but to give in to the motion and fall into Auston’s chest, nose brushing the zipper of his coat.

“If you ever change your mind, you know where to look for me? Auston Matthews?”

“Matts.” He smiled, watery. “I won’t forget.”

 

**Present Day**

His hands traced the indents of the man's skull, ploughed through his hair and attached themselves at the knot at the base of the cloth. A few persistent tugs were all it took for the head of it to wither, the fabric creasing at Mitch's eyebrow because of the slack, and then falling entirely.

He saw the minute the man's eyes adjusted to the dim, interrogation-sequence lighting and acknowledged his height. He saw Mitch halt mid-inhale and take in his face, his eyes, likely the new scar running across his lip. In response, he tucked his chin in and shrunk back, pressing himself to the concrete beneath him. Cowering.

That wouldn’t do.

“Look at me,” he said, trying to force Mitch’s chin up with his right hand. He resisted, because _of course he would,_ after all Auston had done for him _._

“Goddamnit. _Look at me_.” The skin was stretching where his palms were trying to pull it up. Mitch held to his resolve, squeezing his eyes shut tightly enough that his forehead creased twice over.

“Mitch, you fucking look at me _right now_.” He dug his nails into the man’s skin until he squealed, relenting quick enough to induce whiplash. Those blue eyes were focused back on him in an instant, swirling with a toxic concoction of fear, frustration, and potent anger that was so foreign to Auston.

"There you go. There you go, baby." He began rubbing circles into the flecks of stubble on the tip of his chin. Still perpetuating his vow of silence, Mitch stared back, straining to maintain his composure. Auston could see his eyebrows twitch, jaw clenched, all symbols that betrayed what was likely a swell of anxiety brewing inside his head.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he tried. Still, no answer.

“Say something. I know you can talk.”

"I'm not your baby,” he croaked. Just from that snippet alone he sounded beat up, voice like he’d gargled gravel that morning. But at the same time, it was so familiar Auston wanted to weep.

"Yes you are, you've always been my baby." Mitch quivered, clearly unsure of how to assess the situation.

"Matthews--"

"Matts." he corrected.

"Matts. Why am I here? Are you going to kill me?”

“Do you have such little faith in me?” His hands cupped Mitch’s cheeks, pressing in. A sick part of his mind wanted to pull, until the beginnings of Mitch’s crow’s feet were stretched and he was making those pretty little whimpers again.

“I know the consequences of getting caught, of talking. If you’re going to kill me just get it over with.”

“I would _never_ , and you know that. Don’t be an idiot.” Mitch didn’t look reassured, if anything his confidence visually crumbled up. A bit of life left his face as he looked back down to the tiled floor.

“Where’s Naz?” he mumbled under his breath.

“Naz?” He blinked, pretending to run the name through his head to try and find a match.

“My partner. Don’t be stupid. I know you are working with him.” He floundered for a second, trying to work the words floating aimlessly in his head into a convincing sentence. He knew Kadri was smirking just behind that door, maybe with his ear pressed to the surface just to hear how his used-to-be-friend wept out of fear.

“I--Well, I honestly have no idea. I wasn’t the one that found you. I’m here to bail you out, so to speak.”

“Don’t bother,” Mitch said, voice increasing in volume.

“What?”

“I don’t want any more involvement with you.” His face contorted into a sneer. It looked so ugly on his usually happy-go-lucky face. Right now, it was the last thing Auston wanted to see.

The inward reaction to touch more became overwhelming. He rushed all at once and grabbed a handful of Mitch’s hair, tugging him forward. Mitch, in turn, cried out, trying to pull away. With a reliable handle on him, it wasn’t difficult to lean in and pull his face up until the distance between them was indistinguishable.

“I wouldn’t push your luck Marns. If you think there's a shred of empathy left in me for you right now then you're sorely mistaken. Believe me, I've been itching to see you again and my intentions aren’t entirely pure, so I would watch it. Whether you like it or not, I’m here, so deal with it, and let’s go.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t hurt me.” Mitch gritted his teeth, squinting up at him with beady little eyes.

“I said I wouldn’t kill you. But that doesn’t mean you get off scot-free.”

"Asshole!" Mitch flung himself at him. All Auston had to do was take a step back and watch him flop gracelessly onto his stomach.

"Fuck you!" he cried. "Just let me go. Let me go! What do you want? Money? I don't even fucking care anymore, just take it. Leave me alone, I have nothing you want."

“But you--“

"You know I can't promise you whatever loyalty you’re going to ask for, so don’t pull that bullshit with me!”

"And why not?" Auston walked around him, purposely putting him out of the line of sight so Mitch had to curl up and follow his voice with only his ears.

"How about fucking reality? The way you're living right now, that's cruel. That's fucking illegal. Ever stop and think to yourself that there’s more than skimming and opioids? Did you actually inject yourself stupid?"

"On the contrary, I'm doing rather well, thank you. I’m here to help you, you think that’s a lie?”

"I sincerely doubt you’re doing just _well_ ,” he scoffed.

"Honest to God, I don't know why you're fighting this. Was your old life really that bad?”

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't fucking want it! I’m done with trying to negotiate with your kind. You think you know a guy and then he turns his back on you.” He laughed to himself, the sound of it hollow. “It wasn’t because I wanted a vacation.”

"I think it was impulse." Mitch took badly to the offhand comment, if his body language was any indication. His head ricocheted up will ill intent, lips pulling back to snarl as if he were some feral animal and not a greatly respected member of his gang’s community.

"No, fuck you! You know what impulse is? Being asked to join a gang at fourteen and saying yes. That's impulse!” he wailed.

"You're talking about this like I’m asking you to go through this alone. Yes, there are downsides and it can be rough work but there’s positives too.”

"Yeah, and you know what positives I saw? I nearly got my head taken off. I saw a cop put my best friend in handcuffs. Twice.”

“Well to be fair, you did work in London. It’s part of the job description.”

"It wasn't the job, Jesus Christ. It's this.” He bucked up, eyes darting from side to side as if to replace the movement of his hands, which were still bound. “You have a life here and you know what, good for you. You're the heir apparent and I could care less. I'm not going to go talk my head off, but I'm not about to drop everything for you either.”

"You would have a year ago."

"I was young and stupid,” he said.

"So you never thought about me, about us? Mitchy, I would have kept you safe, you know that." The anger in his voice was waning, replaced by a desperate whine from somewhere deep inside his throat.

He was willing to admit the fullness of Mitch’s eyes, the lingering sadness he saw there, tore some sentimental value from him. Even despite his plea, Mitch continued to shake his head, squinting down at the floor.

"No, you couldn't. It’s beyond your control, and that was something I had to accept when I made my decision.”

"Is that why you didn't tell me until you were ready to leave?”

"Yes! Absolutely! Because your head is so far up your own ass that you don't see anything but this." Auston couldn’t help but stomp his foot on the concrete floor to vent his frustrations. It felt like anything he said was completely reflected, even if he spoke it with the best intentions.

"I would have tried!” he said, but if anything, Mitch looked all the more disbelieving.

"Don't bullshit me Matts. You know as well as I do you would've clipped my wings until I regurgitated whatever gang lingo you fed me. You never cared." Inwardly he bristled at the suggestion, purposely ignoring the truth lying sombre beneath. His first instinct was to get angry and make a show, but he shoved it down. Obviously, Mitch wouldn't listen to reason. Anger would only reaffirm his beliefs now.

Fine.

He crouched down and lifted Mitch up, bracing him against his torso. Mitch yanked himself away as soon as he let go, but Auston let his hand remain, gently gliding down the fabric of Mitch's flimsy shirt. His fingers carded through holes and scraps given during the ensuing fight and shivered at the texture, the bruising beneath.

"Mitchy," he began.

"What?" he said, half-wheezing through every breath he took.

"I've really needed you here."

"You don't need me."

"It's been lonely. Sometimes I’m down here for business and I have to remind yourself that I can’t see you anymore. I wasn't kidding when I said I tried to find you."

"To bring me back."

"Partially. More, I just wanted to see you, touch you again. Know you were alive and well and not on some gutter floor." Mitch said nothing. Auston took it as an incentive to continue.

“I know you talked about leaving but around here you can never be too certain. Maybe you were found out and paid the ultimate price; I didn’t have a means of knowing you were alive and well--you didn’t answer your phone” Gratefully, Mitch gave up the spitting and hollering and tucked his chin in, finally responding to Auston in a positive manner.

"I couldn’t like, send notes. They would come looking. _You_ would come looking"

"I know. But it still hurt. And I didn't want to lose hope. When I heard you'd shown up today I nearly had a heart attack."

"You and me both." He laughed to himself, bringing his hands up to cup the back of Mitch's head. He adjusted the angle so that they were both looking into the eyes of the other. He hoped it conveyed the raw passion that still brewed for him. He hoped he knew he was loved.

"I was so happy. Having you here has been a miracle, honestly."

"Matts--"

"I know you don't feel the same, but I wouldn't ask this if you if I wasn't absolutely sure."

"Matts. I have nothing against you but you know my answer."

"So I just meant nothing to you?" Mitch recoiled back like he’d been slapped, insulted to be accused of such a thing.

"No! You were something." It was what he wanted to hear, but he couldn’t help but tease more out of him, out of a private desire to see him grovel beneath him for forgiveness.

"Were--"

"You're insinuating I don't care but I do. I've always cared. Just, not the same anymore. It’s different.”

“Just not enough to keep me in the know too, so it seems."

"Stop going back to that. You have your answer. Take it, leave it, but it's final." He swiped his head to the side, cheeks burning. His eyelashes were clumped with the beginnings of tears, scleras a rosy pink colour. The age had finally set into his expression; he looked bone-tired from every angle. His skin was washed out and ugly.

Auston never wanted to kiss him more than he did at that moment. He was like porcelain, beautiful, but capable of breaking into so many tiny pieces. He needed someone to put him back together, like he used to be, when he smiled. When he didn’t look at Auston with contempt, skin blotchy and eyes rimmed and ferocious. That wasn’t the Mitch he knew nor wanted, and it wasn’t what he was going to get.

Mitch was already leaning against his chest, so it took little effort to loop his arms under his thighs and tug him into his waist so they were pressed together like sardines. He rooted the shaking man, crossing his arms over his back and pressing in until there wasn’t an inch separating them. It grew disorienting rather quickly, Mitch couldn’t breathe with how he was smushed into Auston’s collarbone, and his breathing was becoming more deformed than it already was.

"Remember our nights, back in your apartment,” he rumbled, tracing his hands up and down Mitch’s waist.

When Mitch replied it was so empty, so crooked he had to dig his palms in to make him speak up.

"Matts. I have a girlfriend now.”

"You would glue yourself to me, cross your legs around my waist and pull me forward. You always made the sweetest noises."

"Matts."

"And we hit the peak together. You would ride it out on my thigh, fall asleep afterwards in my arms." As he spoke the images danced behind his eyelids. He could fondly remember the night London had a huge power outage and they were out of work for an evening, so they curled up together on Mitch’s bed with a few red candles lit on the dresser. The whole room was an orange and lavender mix, the smell of vanilla overpowering. They moved at a syrupy slow speed, so slow in fact, that he remembered thinking he’d been slipped something at lunch.

"That can’t happen anymore,” Mitch said, bringing him back to reality. The red and purple lights devolved into harsh blacks and whites, the stacked tables replacing the old scratchy rug Mitch had and the dresser missing two drawers.

"It could happen again." He brought his face closer, exhale washing over Mitch’s cheek.

"Matts, I'm not staying." His knees made a reappearance, rudely shoving at Auston’s torso until they split apart. Mitch fell backwards on his arms, wincing at the unexpected weight put on his bound hands.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? But I can’t.” Auston pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Why was he refusing to see from his point of view? Surely his life couldn’t be that great. He had no money to finance a college education, had dropped out of high school, and his “part-time” work was theft. Who would hire him? He had no one left. No one but Auston. He should be _begging_ for repentance.

"You will stay or you will die,” he spat, turning on Mitch with one finger pointed at his forehead. “And I'll make sure I supervise it. I'll do it myself. And I'll make sure they never find your body. You'll drown alongside all the other unwanted nobodies in the body of Lake Ontario." Mitch’s face contorted with fury, but underneath the facade of anger Auston could see the colour drain away. He was back to shaking like a leaf.

"So I'm your escort now, your hired fuck? Is that what I am, a motherfucking prostitute?" The venom was almost unbearable, directed at him.

“No. You’ll just be mine. My partner, my friend. I’m doing this for you.” He carded his hands through Mitch’s hair again, needing to touch after being deprived of it for so long. Mitch continued to shiver, and Auston’s attempts to smooth the anxiety away only increased his struggles.

“A _friend_ wouldn’t do this to me. Forget it Matts,” he grunted, crying out when Auston’s hands left his head to claw into the bottom of his face.

“Don’t think I’m not above playing dirty, because you know better than anyone that I’m not. I’ll ruin you, I’ll go after your friends. I’ll blacklist you in this city and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. Now, _get up_. I’m not going to ask again.” His nails, which felt like talons when he got angry, were digging into the meat of Mitch’s chin. After he’d spoken the last word he threw the man’s head to the side, watching the drops of sweat fly off into the black void behind them.

“You’re a fucking sociopath,” Mitch groaned, squeezing his eyes. Regardless of his verbal protests, his legs unfurled from underneath him and he made his first efforts to stand. Auston took pity on him, eventually bending over to steady the man and heave him to his feet. His hands, still bound, swung uselessly behind him as their owner choked on tears.

“I’ll never touch you again,” Mitch promised, but his voice was wrinkled, tired. The fight had bled dry from him, leaving nothing but a kindred spirit behind.

It should have spooked Auston; he’d never used his persuasion or blackmail to such an extent, but, though he’d never admit it aloud, it excited him. His heart raced at the possibilities that could come from having someone like Mitch under his thumb. True, it was many things, inhumane one of them, but if in the end it saved Mitch from a life on the streets, or worse, behind bars, then at heart it was made with good intentions.

So yes, maybe his hand slid down the small of Mitch’s back as he escorted him out of the supply room. He heard the heft of breath, how Mitch tried to shoo him away and upon realizing he had no sway, scrunched himself up. How that only made him desire him more despite it all.

He was seriously twisted, there was no getting around it. There was no turning back when you had a literal hostage at your beck and call. That was on a different level from mere money laundering and credit card fraud.

And they would both just have to live with it.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched so many crime syndicate documentaries to prepare for this, so my apologies if the information is biased or completely wrong. I was inherently motivated by our goofs’ synchronized outfits more than wanting to write an alternate universe at first, but I feel like there’s enough substance here to warrant more writing in the future if enough people like it.  
> If you’re here for warnings they come as follows; occasional mentions of torture, drug-use and an active kidnapping that fuels the plot. Auston isn’t in the wrong frame of mind but he lacks any empathy for Mitch and because of the culture he’s been exposed to has some graphic dark thoughts that he insinuates he will act on. He blackmails Mitch to return to a criminal organization against his will and it’s left unclear how much freedom he will have when he does.
> 
> All of the teams in both the big and small leagues make up syndicates in Canada, though what they offer as services greatly varies. The London Knights were made out to be the weapons-traffickers because they are so close to the border. They specialize in smuggling weapons over from the United States (using men like Mitch, who are angel-faced to cover their tracks) and transporting them into Canada where the make is illegal. They are secluded in the sketchy side of town and don’t have too many relations with the public.
> 
> The Leafs on the other hand, are huge, and have been huge for many years. They own several business corporations and hire vulnerable young adults graduating in business and commerce programs to work as a front in their companies as they secretly groom them into a life of crime. They do a whole lot of stuff; usually sucking money out of charity funds and taking advantage of economic and global paranoia to get people to give them money (so a lot of money laundering). They sell information to other businesses, steal credit card numbers to take out big loans, all while absorbing tiny organizations like the Knights and essentially doing their work for them. They’re very private and secular from the government and have paid off so many people that they are virtually impossible to take down. 
> 
> Auston is the prodigy child while Mitch is the homeless street boy that joined a gang for protection and income. He does see Auston as an out, but at the same time someone to fool around with, and while he understands they come from different backgrounds he doesn’t understand how high up on the totem pole Auston is (because he’s so young). Auston loves him, but he’s also manipulative and wants to bring him over to the Leafs, which he accomplishes through an elaborately set trap and blackmail.
> 
> Kadri is a double agent that works for the Leafs but pretends to still be affiliated with the Knights for espionage and information-related purposes. As far as the Knights are aware, Kadri has no connections with Toronto at all, which is why he’s so careful about exposing himself.


End file.
